sarah elizabeth @scribblenuggets-blog - Tumblr Blog

Discovering B.W.

My heart is swollen

like I fell from a tree

the same moment a backdoor slammed

and a promise was broken

but also like the five-year-old princess

in her glittery spin-around-in dress

But even then -- all bruised and filthy and hidden in tulle --

you hold my hand

you rub my head the way I said my daddy used to

and you read aloud the stories

you've kept hidden since the third grade

And my heart is swollen

When night comes and my heart aches for unknown reasons

And when my mind gets trapped in rooms

You are the one who I hope will stay

For every night, for every tear, for every laugh

And I know you will

Because of the late rainy nights

And the way you run from window to window just to see me smile back

I love you so much more than ever before

"I don't know exactly what I mean by that, but I mean it." -J.D. Salinger

a conceptual experiment

some things I (really) want to do with my life

>> tithe in huge chunks to things I'm passionate about

>> adopt a child that needs me to hug them for their whole life

>> be poor with a husband that loves me ridiculously (which would be so rich)

>> teach kids how to write and think about things abstractly

>> photograph weddings because love, yay love

>> host missionaries in my home and support people in long-term missions

>> have regular discussion groups with people of a variety of religions (maybe on a secular college campus)

>> be part of a community group crazy about Jesus and intergenerational relationships

>> learn all about random locations and then go to them

>> mentor and be mentored

an excerpt from my journal

I believe that every piece of driftwood carries not just one story with it as it bobs along with the sea, but dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands. I am [was] tired, like driftwood always washing into the waves and back to shore - unsure of where I should be and finding no firm footing anywhere. Worn and weary, I feel here but also there, and faded - only a shade of the color I used to be. Is this what growing up is?

I feel like I'm constantly bobbing, sometimes floating, resting in the uncertainties of my final destination but knowing full well that there is nothing more incredible than the swell of this sea. She is carrying me both gently and harshly at the same time, as if giving me a second chance in the fishing boat I kept tied to the dock the first time around.

One of my stories [one of the thousands] goes like this: I built a dam in the dirty river, believing that letting anyone else in would cast the others out to sea. She was a small dam to start, but as the tears fell into the shower drain and I buried my head deep under bedcovers while others stayed up laughing, she grew without invitation. The devilish strangle of "it's-just-who-I-am'" gripped me silently as a defensive army against any force which could have [should have] mustered boldness. I proclaimed my confidence like I would in a military ship, but inside she was a small rowboat hoping against the discovery of a leak. That damn dam. Pieces of me were straightened, but I did not like the way it felt for straightforward hands to pick. Then [now], sunny days came along with strong words proclaiming things like adventure and friendship and honesty and excuse me but what the hell is that? And so it was, my dam was revealed and I was [am] uncomfortable and feeling more naked than ever, yet it is not cold outside. I am trying desperately not to compare myself with the ones who have let me go, trying helplessly not to believe that I have been given up on for not being new, and praying ceaselessly for a revival.

Side note: When have I felt most alive? When did I smell things pungent and flowery and inhale feelings that could never be described? When has anyone driven to me as I cried in return for their own tears I've caught? When have I felt safe in a wide open field? When have I stood through a sunroof on a highway? When have I learned to release the cynic in my soul? When have I felt small in a beautiful way? When has someone sought the friend in me?

But tell me - what makes you think our timelines must be parallel?

Growing up kind of sucks.

oh look, a writing only place: http://sarah-harrison.tumblr.com

The Sun

Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills, or the rumpled sea, and is gone— and how it slides again out of the blackness, every morning, on the other side of the world, like a red flower streaming upward on its heavenly oils, say, on a morning in early summer, at its perfect imperial distance— and have you ever felt for anything such wild love— do you think there is anywhere, in any language, a word billowing enough for the pleasure that fills you, as the sun reaches out, as it warms you as you stand there, empty-handed— or have you too turned from this world— or have you too gone crazy for power, for things?

-MO

I battle with my self, my mind with all its

dizziness and forgettings and

locking itself in rooms.

I am afraid of the way you love me

sweeter than any sugar on my tongue before

It is easy to look outward. It's easy to look ahead, to stare at what's in front of me, to analyze who is there and what is (or might be) going on with them. It's easy to be farsighted. It's natural, even. If I'm not farsighted (for the season), the same narrow-vision goes for my nearsightedness. I'm realizing that I often do this in my faith, my judgments, my mindset. In reality, I would fix this physical problem with my eyes (take my glasses for example). But when it doesn't pertain to my eyes, why do I avoid correcting my vision?

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